Give Me Love
by thesoundingsea
Summary: A progression of Captain Swan kisses, from Neverland to New York to The Big One (True Love's Kiss). Fluff and feels with some angst and smut thrown in for fun.


This was a valentine's day fic for swans-hook on tumblr that it took me waaaay too long to finish.

A progression of captain swan kisses. Fluff with a hint of angst and a bit of smut.

Hope you like it!

* * *

If there was a hell, Neverland was it. The island was hot and humid and exactly as Killian had remembered it. He tried not to think about the last time he'd been there, but between the mermaids and the Lost Boys and Pan being the adolescent shit that he was, keeping the old memories at bay was all but impossible. He didn't sleep much while they were there searching for Henry, tried not to think about much other than getting the boy back to his mothers and getting the hell off the island, but sneaking between those moments were thoughts of blonde hair and green eyes and a fire he hadn't seen in a woman since…well, not for a long time.

At first his errant thoughts didn't bother him – Swan was young and beautiful and it was only natural that he should be attracted to her, but beyond that he never let his thoughts wander. His mind and his heart were loyal to his first love.

Slowly, though, she began to worm her way from his head to his black heart, filling the empty spaces with her determination and her strength, clearing away cobwebs from the parts of him he'd thought long since abandoned.

So Killian allowed himself to tease her a little, enjoying her irritated sighs and the hint of a smile in her eyes when she glared at him. After helping her father, he thought he'd press his luck a little with a finger to his lips and a look that he _knew_ was bordering on absurd – and he felt his stomach give a surprised twist when she smiled, actually _smiled_ at him.

(She'd only smiled at him one other time, after he complimented her on figuring out Pan's map, and for a moment he entertained the possibility that in both circumstances the rum he'd given her had gone straight to her head and she was somehow _already_ _drunk_.)

But she didn't look drunk, not when he watched her eyes flicker down to his lips briefly before coming back to meet his. He was close, _so _close, and he braced himself in case she put her walls back up and decided to knee him in the balls for his trouble, but she didn't back away.

She challenged him. And instinctively – it must have been instinct, because he was too floored to believe she'd actually _flirted_ with him – he challenged her right back.

When her lips found his, it was nothing like he'd imagined – and yes, he _had_ imagined it, probably more than he should have – but it was everything he could have hoped for, demanding and hard, a messy tangle of lips and breath, bodies close enough that he had to fight the urge to run his tongue over the skin of her neck where he could see her pulse racing. If she hadn't broken the kiss when she did he might have considered dragging her away a distance – he knew of a nearby meadow where the flowers smelled like colors, where the sun was warm and the grass was soft and he could watch her skin flush crimson at his touch…

Then it was over.

A one-time thing, she called it, and he had no choice to believe her, but even back then he knew he was done for. One kiss was all it took for Killian Jones to realize he was a lost man.

**. . .**

He tried every door in the building, because the magic that led him from the Enchanted Forest to the land of New York apparently stopped at the front entrance. After staring at his own reflection for a few minutes, and then charming an older lady into letting him inside, he started on the ground level and worked his way up floor by floor, gritting his teeth and feeling his heart sink a little more every time someone answered because no, once again, it wasn't her. He kept his hope alive because it was all he had, but after dozens of slammed doors (and an unsolicited offer from a half-naked lass on the second floor that may have appealed to him in former years), his excitement was beginning to wane.

He held his breath and knocked, heard the quiet padding of feet over a hardwood floor, and then the door opened.

"Swan."

His heart was beating so loudly and his chest felt like it might burst, and just _seeing_ her again was enough to ease the pain of a year's absence.

Ease it. Not soothe it.

Every ounce of exhaustion in him fled as his eyes raked over her, every bit of her just as beautiful, just as perfect as it had been the last time he saw her. But when he looked into her eyes he saw it there, the distance, the lack of recognition and utter bemusement, and he reminded himself why he was there.

He barely knew what he was saying until he took a small step closer and wavered, balancing on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight back and forth because he knew what he was about to do and part of him longed for it but part of him was terrified.

Dave told him it wouldn't work – that it _couldn't_ work if a person's memories were tampered with – and there was something in his eyes when he said it that told Killian the prince was speaking from experience. Snow seconded her husband's warning, but she gave the pirate a nod of encouragement that he hadn't been expecting, and she added that things like True Love have funny ways of surprising us. Killian's eyebrows shot up at this, but he said nothing – though he felt the corners of his mouth pull up toward a smile, so he quickly turned and pretended to calm his horse while he regained his composure. Perhaps a pirate was not the kind of man they'd dreamed would ride off into the unknown to win their daughter's heart, but the fact that they were giving him the chance was more than he dared to hope for.

Killian thought of the sincerity in her eyes, the careful balance of understanding and pleading when she invited him to be _part of something_; he remembered his relief when she lay unmoving on the deck of his ship, just before that one rush of breath that told him that he hadn't lost her, too; he thought of her hand on the back of his neck, tangling in his hair as she drew him closer; and he could still see as clear as day the way she studied his face, the way her expression shifted from joy to sorrow when she said, "Good," just before she drove away, before he and the others were swallowed up by the curse.

All of this and more he put into the press of his lips on hers, and he gave every shred of feeling that he had for her – he wanted to call it love, it _felt_ like love, but even thinking the word scared him because he wasn't sure she felt the same – as he tangled his fingers in her hair and tried to make her remember.

The result shouldn't have been surprising, but it was, and he was so caught in the emotion of the moment that he couldn't move fast enough to keep her knee from rather forcefully introducing itself to his crotch. But even then, even after she slammed the door in his face and left him alone in the corridor, he was smiling.

He _found_ her.

(He did help her remember, after a fashion, and he tried not to smile when she introduced him to Henry – she called him Killian, more than once, and never before had his name sounded so perfect.)

**. . .**

The Wicked Witch proved a more cunning adversary than anyone anticipated. Her ever-growing legion of flying monkeys and her own considerable magical skill kept the citizens of Storybrooke fighting for their lives around the clock. At first all they could do was react, and without a sound strategy their numbers dwindled rapidly. Killian was no stranger to war – he'd seen enough of it in the navy and as a pirate to know the ins and outs of killing a man, and taking the lives of bloody winged monkeys was no different.

It wasn't the killing that he had a problem with – in a lot of ways he enjoyed that part because every life he took meant that was one less enemy, one less threat to _her_. To _everyone_. No, his problem was that he didn't want Swan to see him like that. Killian Jones was a man of honor, a good man, a kind man, and he'd worked so hard to make her see that he was more than a _pirate_. But any thoughts he had of hiding his savagery were dismissed once the fighting started.

Captain Hook left piles of dead in his wake, moving in flashes of wet crimson and glinting steel, reminiscent of a time he thought he'd left behind him. The days passed with little rest, and more than once he caught himself daydreaming due to lack of sleep, but somehow he survived – and somehow she was always there when the battle was over, sword in hand, eyes tired, shoulders slumped forward and weary. Their eyes would meet across the battlefield and he would breathe again, covered in sweat and dirt and the blood of their enemies.

This time when he caught her gaze she gave him a half smile, and before his mind could catch up his feet were already walking toward her. It had rained all morning, only coming down harder as the day progressed. His boots splashed through puddles, slipped in the mud, aggravating muscles in his arms and legs that were already sore as he tried to keep his balance. With his attention firmly fixed on her face Killian barely noticed the bodies of the fallen, skirting around them as Swan watched him, her eyes wide and alert, chest heaving, grip still tight on her sword like she expected another attack.

She was beautiful.

When he reached her side he gave her a soft smile, and Swan stared up at him for a long moment, studying him with quiet patience while she brushed tendrils of rain-soaked hair from her face.

"You aren't hurt?" he asked, seeing splashes of blood mingled with the mud streaked across her skin. His hand reached up to swipe over her cheek, brushing away a stray bit of dirt that the rain hadn't cleared away, and then his fingers slid down her cheek to trace over her jaw before resting lightly against her neck where a few red lines were starting to bruise. It looked like a broad hand with thick fingers had held her too tight, and he rubbed his palm gently over the mark, if not to erase the pain then at least to lessen it a little.

She shook her head. "You?"

"No, love. I'm not hurt."

Killian's heart beat hard against his ribcage as it strained toward her, begging for closeness like he wasn't already invading her space, near enough to make out the flecks of gold in her eyes and the freckles on her cheeks. Her eyes smiled but her lips did not, their soft perfection newly marred by a bruise near her bottom lip and a small cut that had bled and dried over. He ran his thumb gently over the wound, his eyes following the movement, watching as her lips parted. He could feel her gaze on him, heating him through to his bones despite the chill of the rain, and she let out a slow breath that he felt on his skin as he traced her mouth slowly, carefully, remembering the way she moved with him, the feeling of her lips on his, imagining the taste of her on his tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said, and Killian furrowed his brow. His callused thumb kept its place on her bottom lip, his long fingers tapping a random pattern on the side of her neck, but his eyes met hers when he spoke.

"For what, love?"

"I'm sorry I kneed you in the balls when you kissed me in New York."

He laughed. The sound felt out of place, surrounded by death and filth as they were, but he couldn't hold it in, and when she joined in with a soft chuckle he felt lightness in his chest that he hadn't felt in days, his heart relieved of a burden he didn't know he was carrying.

"Apology accepted, Swan, though it's not necessary. I am the sorry one – you didn't know who I was, and perhaps my tactics were a bit forceful…"

Her fingers came up to silence him, and she shook her head, but it was the look in her eyes that stopped him short, the honest, naked vulnerability that so perfectly mirrored his own.

"Don't ever apologize for that."

He smiled. Emma smiled back, but stopped with a wince and a curse when the cut in her lip split open again, and she dabbed at the wound with her fingertips as Killian closed the distance between them and brought her into his arms. He bent down and pressed his lips to her temple, finding a place that wasn't covered in blood, where he could feel the warmth of her skin and breathe in the smell of her. His hand moved from her neck to the back of her head and he pulled her close, slowly so she could push him away if she wanted. But her arms slipped around his waist and she nuzzled her wet forehead head into his neck, and Killian closed his eyes to the carnage around them and pretended they were somewhere else – anywhere else in the world – as he focused on the way her breath made his skin feel hot, and the soft, pressure of her mouth, when she kissed his neck.

**. . .**

"Don't ask me to leave you, Swan."

He knew she wasn't going to change her mind but he had to say it anyway because he felt sick at the thought of sending her off to fight the witch alone. She wouldn't be alone, of course – Regina and her parents would be with her – but _he_ wouldn't be there with her and he didn't trust anyone else to watch over her in his place. He couldn't help but worry, couldn't help but need to be there with her. His heart wouldn't allow him to feel less. But the set of her jaw and the burning determination in her eyes told him she wasn't going to back down, and she took a step closer to him and said, "I need someone I trust to stay behind and take care of my son, Hook."

Killian sighed, and felt the fight leave him though the sharp blade of fear was still fixed in his heart. "I'll guard him with my life, Swan, you know that. But I don't like this."

She nodded, and strode across the deck of the _Jolly_ with resigned purpose.

And then she looked back over her shoulder at him.

"Swan," he said, and she stopped immediately, whirling around just in time for him to thread his fingers through her hair and pull her head toward his. He remembered softness from their first kiss, passion, desperation, and this was nothing of the sort – this was possessive and fierce, his hooked arm sliding around her waist to yank her hips closer as he opened his mouth over hers, his tongue tracing her lips before dipping inside to tease over hers, mapping her mouth as he swallowed her sigh and deepened the kiss, painting her lips with impatient fire.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, the tips of her fingers digging into his leather coat and making him wish the night wasn't so cold because then he could have felt the heat of her skin as she pulled him into her. Every breath was shared, every tilt of his head matched by hers until it felt like he'd been kissing her for years, like it was something that his body knew as instinctively as breathing.

"Stay with me," he said, pulling away long enough to whisper before kissing her temples, her chin, her neck. "Let me love you."

"Hook," she breathed, and he felt her melt into his arms, body warm and pliant, fingers gripping tight.

"I may not…we might not…" he repeated, backing away so he could look her in the eye, let her see in his eyes the things he couldn't say. "Just…stay with me, Emma."

She barely had time to nod properly before he grinned and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her into his cabin and kicking the door closed behind him.

"The pirate ravishing the princess," she said, yanking her shirt over her head and smiling when he did the same. She gave him an appraising sort of smile, letting her fingers trace a few of the scars on his chest before tackling the buttons of her jeans. "Pretty sure I've heard this story before," she laughed.

"Not like this, you haven't," he replied, nearly tripping over his trousers as he stepped out of them and removed his hook and brace as he watched her finish stripping. He made a note in his head to ask her about those lacy undergarments she was wearing – later, though. Much, _much_ later.

"This is different, then, is it?" she asked, her chest heaving when he stepped closer and let his body line up with hers, nothing but skin against skin from thigh to shoulder, and Hook bit back a groan when she put her hands on his hips and pulled him harder against her.

"Aye," he said, nudging her cheek with his nose as he walked her back toward the bed. He leaned over her and waited until she was settled in before crawling over her, kissing up her legs, her stomach, her breasts, his breath hot on her skin. He smiled when he flicked his tongue out over a nipple and she shivered beneath him, her hips shifting in restless circles. "It's different…because…I'm in love with you," he whispered between kisses.

He was startled by how easily the words came out, by how natural it felt to tell her he loved her – he hadn't said that to a woman in a long, long time, and it was both liberating and terrifying at the same time. But instead of freezing up like he thought she would, her body relaxed further into the bed and she sighed, running her hands from his waist up to his shoulders.

Emma groaned, tilting her hips into his. "Then _love_ me."

Hook kissed his way down her body, bringing a beautiful blush to her skin with the slide of his tongue over slick flesh and the steady pressing of rough fingers, creating a smooth rhythm that she matched with the roll of her hips. She arched up off the bed and groaned his name, fists almost tearing his pillows as she trembled beneath him, and when he crawled back up to line his body with hers she wrapped her arms and legs around him and said his name, _his_ _name_, Killian,Killian,_ Killian_, like she _needed _him. He slipped inside with a slow push and a loud groan, and he let his head fall to her shoulder and reveled in every sensation, his lips speaking poetry in her ear and his hand playing music on her skin as he took her with a tenderness that made his chest hurt, every nerve in his body sparking to life.

Words of love fell from his lips without reservation as he sought comfort in the heat of her body and the sound of her voice repeating his name over and over like a prayer, and when they came it was together, everything soft and hard and fast and slow and perfect, bloody _perfect_.

He watched her sleep, watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, watched the way dreams furrowed her brow and wrinkled her nose. She curled into him, wrapping around him with arms and legs until he could feel every part of her against every part of him, and he swore to himself that he was going to see to it that she survived this, no matter what.

Even if it killed him, he would keep her safe.

**. . .**

It all started with a kiss.

Made sense that it might end with one, too.

One time in Neverland and that was all it took, really, to convince Emma that it was anything _but_ one-time. He'd always been able to see through her, always knew her better than she wanted him too, always saw through the fragile disguises that seemed to fool everyone else. Thinking back on New York, she wished that True Love's kiss would have worked because then she would _know_, and all of this wouldn't be left to chance, to fate.

And when she left him to look after Henry, the most precious thing in the world to her, he had kept him safe – had sacrificed himself to keep them _all_ safe, and now he was lying in front of her, eyes closed, the lines of his face softened, his lips slightly parted in sleep.

He'd told her he loved her, too, but that was then. He thought he might never see her again. He made love to her like it was the only chance he'd get, and though Emma _felt _it in the way he touched her, burned into her skin with fingers and breathless whispers, Emma knew all too well that declarations of love made in emotional moments like that weren't always _real_.

(She tried to shake off the image of Neal's face, eyes frozen and glazed over in death…)

"What if it doesn't work?" she asked again, and Regina threw her hands in the air and walked away. Emma's eyes immediately flew to her father's face, and the prince knelt down on the other side of Hook.

"Do you love him, Emma?"

"I…"

The savior looked down at her pirate again and nodded. "I don't know…I think so…maybe…" There wasn't any other word for it. She'd exhausted her vocabulary trying to put a name to what she felt for the man, but in the end love was the only one that encompassed every facet of their friendship, every flutter of emotion in her heart, every taste of his name on her lips.

"Then it will work – you just need to have a little faith."

Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes, resting her hands on Hook's chest. It still felt warm, even though there was no rise and fall to tell her he was alive. She thought of the beanstalk, when he bound the wound on her hand and she couldn't keep herself from letting her fingers slide over his cheek; she pictured that stupid look on his face when he teased for a kiss in Neverland, and the flush in his cheeks when she made good on it; she thought of the earnest pleading in his eyes when he held out the potion that restored her memories; the softness in his expression and the honesty in his words when he told her he was in love with her.

All of this and more she tried to press into his lips, and even though her mouth barely touched his she felt the weight of magic rush through her, felt the air around them shift and shudder and she knew, _knew_ without a doubt that it was true love.

But then…why were his eyes still closed?

"Hook?" She looked down at his face, putting her palms on his cheeks and holding his head in her hands as she said his name once more.

Eyes still closed, he whispered, "Might need to try it again, love – perhaps with a little more enthusiasm?"

"Pirate," she muttered, but she kissed him anyway, and when he pulled her on top of him and the others groaned and her _father_ (who was standing right there watching a pirate maul his daughter) cleared his throat and started threatening bodily harm, all she could do was laugh, because she'd been so very, very wrong – it wasn't an ending after all, just a new beginning.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy ;)**


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